Names

I recently participated in a writing workshop and wrote a quick piece on names. Names are such fascinating things. We have little control over our names, and at some point in life, most of us wish we had a different name. They represent our identity, carry our heritage, connect us to family. The ten minute writing prompt was to write about our name. A few other physicians in the group suggested I post this.

My name changes each day. Every time I meet someone new, I struggle with what to call myself. If the patient is young and looks frightened, then I grasp his hand warmly and call myself Craig. If she looks skeptical or her lips are pursed or if she has more than two allergies, then it is a firm handshake and Dr. Chen. If the patient has been through World War II, or any war really, then it's back to my first name. They want to give me a title, to give me authority, but they command too much awe in my eyes. They've seen and weathered so much it feels disingenuous to establish a rank and hierarchy around them. If the child is old enough that I might ask what he wants to be when he grows up, I call myself Dr. Craig.

My name feels different rolling off different tongues. A nurse calls me doctor, and I insist on Craig. A surgeon calls me Anesthesia and I insist on Doctor. A ninety year old nursing home patient who has broken her hip, sensorium clouded by pain and confusion, calls me by the name of her late husband. I grasp her hand gently and don't say a thing.